


40-all

by bulletdart



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-12 02:53:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12949737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bulletdart/pseuds/bulletdart
Summary: collection of various unrelated tenipuri drabbles from saso 2017





	1. kamio/momo, broken bicycles

**Author's Note:**

> these were all written while i was reading the manga for the first time so the characterization is, uh. i just wanted to crosspost these so that i could have a reference to my older fics in a year or so
> 
> ships in chapter titles

Kamio hears the door to the bicycle repair shop swing open and he turns around to see—  
  
" _You._ "  
  
"Me," Momoshiro confirms as he rolls his bicycle through the door, as much as one can roll a bicycle with one wheel bent at a sixty degree angle. He finishes jamming his bike through the door as Kamio and the other patrons stare at him aghast.  
  
"What the hell happened to your bike?"  
  
Momoshiro shrugs. "Got into a nasty run-in with a classmate of mine."  
  
"What, Motormouth Momo not about to elaborate?"  
  
"Why are you calling me th—who are you anyway?"  
  
Kamio stares at him, mouth hanging open slightly. Momoshiro stares back, waving a hand in front of his face. No reaction. Momoshiro reaches into his bag and stuffs a meat bun into Kamio's still open mouth. Kamio chokes.  
  
"What was that for?" Momoshiro shrugs and scoots his way past him towards the workshop in the back. "And it's Kamio—Kamio Akira, y'know? From Fudomine? We met last spring."  
  
"Yeah, and it's autumn now. Kind of hard to remember the names of everyone that I've slaughtered."  
  
"You didn't slaughter me. I didn't even play against you!" Kamio frowns and tilts his head. "I thought you'd remember me,  _bicycle thief._ "  
  
Momoshiro's eyes light up and he snaps, pointing a finger gun in Kamio's direction. "Oh! You're  _that_  guy. We played doubles against Atobe, right?"  
  
"So you remember his name, but not mine?"  
  
"Like Atobe would let anyone forget what his name is. Dude's got every square inch of his property plastered with it."  
  
Kamio pauses. "True." He turns around and inspects Momoshiro's bike. "So what did happen?"  
  
Momoshiro clears his throat awkwardly. "I, uh, ran over Kaidoh. Accidentally"  
  
Kamio has to keep himself from hissing like the boy in question upon hearing his name. Momoshiro laughs at the contorted facial expression he makes. Kamio straightens himself out and sighs. "Accidentally."  
  
"Yeah! It wasn't on purpose for once!"  
  
Kamio rolls his eyes and tugs the bicycle out of his hands, dragging it towards a stand.  
  
"Hey,  _hey_. Where do you think you're going?"  
  
If Kamio could roll his eyes any harder they'd fall out of his skull. "This bike shop is a coalition. You have to do your own repairs. Did you just walk into the first store that said "BICYCLE" on it or something?"  
  
Momoshiro shuffles his feet and stares at the ground. "Maybe," he whispers.  
  
Kamio sighs. "Well, it's evident that you've never brought your bike in before since it's in horrible working condition. I'll help you with your repairs if you pay for all of the new materials."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yeah, and then I'll take it to make up for the bike you destroyed last time."  
  
" _Hey!_ "


	2. momo/kaidoh, crushes

"So. What you're saying is:  _You_? Had a crush? On  _me_?"

Kaidoh hisses and tightens his hands into fists. "Emphasis on had."

Momo just looks at him in complete bewilderment. " _Why?_ "

"Fuck if I know."

"Was it my charming personality? My rugged good looks? My prowess on the tennis court?" Momo suddenly starts laughing. "Wait. So does this mean that all of the times you started fights with me were just you pulling my pigtails?"

"Shut the fuck up.  _No_ , I started fights with you because you were fucking annoying."

"But you still liked me anyways," Momo sing-songs gleefully. He spins on the spot and looks Kaidoh in the eyes. "You  _do_  know that I'm never going to stop bringing this up, right?"

Kaidoh hisses.

\---

Momo saunters over to where Kaidoh stands, glaring at the first years. "Hey! Cap'n Crush!"

"Captain  _what_?"

"Y'know, like Cap'n Crunch. Except crush. Because you. Y'know. Have a crush on me. Ain't it clever?"

" _Had._  And no, it's just as stupid as you are."

"Who're calling stupid, stupid?" Momo pauses, and Kaidoh can almost see the lightbulb materialize above his head. "Stupid in love with me."

Kaidoh pulls his arm back. Momo runs.

\----

Momo leans back against Kaidoh's locker, blocking his path. "Y'know what I've been thinking?"

Kaidoh looks at him with cold, dead eyes. "Another shitty pun?"

"Well, I mean, yeah. But. Okay, hear me out." Kaidoh wedges his arm behind Momo's back and attempts to shove him away from his locker. "Whoa there, man, hold up for a sec.

"I was thinking. You know how you--"

"Had a crush on you, yes, I know, you've reminded me  _a thousand fucking times today_."

Momo laughs as Kaidoh's hissing steadily increases in volume. "Yeah. And you know what? I'm insulted, man. How did you with all your--" Momo gestures vaguely at Kaidoh's entire body. "Everything--"

"What?" Kaidoh asks, shoving against Momo harder. "How did I what?"

"How did you ever resist," Momo stops and turns his head towards Kaidoh, noticing how close together they are, noticing how much of Kaidoh's body is pressing against his.

"Resist what? Punching you in your stupid face?"

"My stupid  _pretty_  face," Momo says, bringing a hand up to rest on Kaidoh's shoulder. He looks at it, mildly confused, then looks up again. He doesn't remember Momo's face being quite that close. It's  _way_  too close as Momo leans in further and presses his thin lips chastely against his before pulling back, stepping away from Kaidoh's locker.

"That."

Kaidoh stares at him incredulously, face slowly turning a deep red. Momo smiles sheepishly and scratches the back of his head. "Heh. Well. It looks like it might not have been  _had_  after all, eh?"

Kaidoh hisses at him but Momo suddenly looks at him directly, expression serious. "But... y'know... maybe...  _I_  was the one pulling pigtails this whole time."


	3. yanagi/inui, a notebook labeled "renji"

Renji runs his fingers over the cover of the binder. RENJI, its labeled, in what is unmistakably Sadaharu's writing. He pauses for a second, letting his fingers run across its well-worn spine. He usually disapproves of this, looking at secondhand data, instead preferring to collect it himself, but curiosity gets the best of him as he flips open the cover.  
  
 _Today the professor and I learned about "data tennis" from a senpai. He said that we should keep notebooks filled with data so that we can better analyze our opponents' moves. I'm not sure who we're going to be playing in Hawaii, so I'm going to start by compiling data on Renji so that we can play together better._  
  
Renji suppresses a small smile. That explains the thickness of the binder, filled with multiple spiral bound notebooks. He flips to the second notebook, curious to see what data Sadaharu had managed to compile about his younger self.  
  
He appears to have skipped too far. The handwriting is slightly shaky.  
  
 _Why did he leave? Why didn't he tell me where he was moving? I thought that we were better friends than that.  
  
Probability that he has something to hide from me: 83%  
Probability that he wishes to maintain contact with me: 0.8%_  
  
He flips about a third of the way through the notebook.  
  
 _Renji didn't give me his new landline and he didn't have a cell phone. He didn't give me his new address and he won't answer any of my e-mails._  
  
Oh. Renji had made a new e-mail address shortly after he had moved and had never bothered to check his old one. He figured that ryanagi93 was more professional than tennisprofessor3000.  
  
 _Probability that he wishes to maintain contact with me: 0%  
Probability that he no longer wants to be friends with me: 99.8%_  
  
Renji feels something clench deep within him. It was his fault, he knew, but that didn't mean that he couldn't regret it. He flips further through the second notebook. The rest of it is blank. The remaining three notebooks look much newer, much shinier. He opens to the first page of the third notebook. It states simply, in Sadaharu's neat handwriting:  
  
 _He's back._  
  
He flips back and forth through the notebook, but it's all data from his three years at Rikkai, all things that he knows already, without any of the insights he's searching for. He flips to the back of the final notebook.  
  
 _Data collection requires impartiality and I am afraid that I'm no longer able to maintain it in this case. I snuck up on Rikkai's practice today—_  
  
Renji glances at the date of the entry. He hadn't noticed Sadaharu's presence.  
  
 _—and I could not properly focus on collecting data. I had meant to collect more data on Kirihara and other underclassmen, as a parting gift to the tennis club, but I couldn't tear my eyes off of Renji. It wasn't even because I was analyzing his moves.  
  
Probability that my personal feelings are beginning to interfere with my data collection: 74%  
  
I can't help but focus on every detail about him, about the rise and fall of his chest, about the exact angle he tilts his head back when he drinks water, about the frequency with which he wipes sweat off of his forehead, about how many centimeters he unzips his jacket by._  
  
Renji opens his eyes.  
  
 _Probability that I'm in love: 100%_


	4. fuji/mizuki, seiru fuji au

Given that Yuuta refused to play at Seigaku so long as Shuusuke was there, Shuusuke saw one logical solution. He turns in his club resignation slip and turns his back on Tezuka, on Eiji, on Oishi, on Inui. Yuuta deserves to play with the best, and if this is what it takes, this is what he is willing to do.  
  
\---  
  
Shuusuke picks up his suitcase, kisses his mother, his sister, his dear brother, and steps off the platform onto the train that will take him to his new school. He had received a letter alarmingly fast after his resignation. Word spread fast, apparently, and this... St. Rudolph was quick to try and poach him. Shuusuke had pocketed the letter, walked by the Seigaku tennis courts, where Yuuta was playing, arguing about something with... Momoshiro, was it? He thought about Yuuta growing, away from him, of getting to see him play at his best.  
  
He turned around and walked home, setting pen to paper as he replied to whomever this Mizuki was.  
  
\---  
  
Shuusuke smiles with tightly closed eyes at the boy standing in his dorm room doorway.  
  
"Mizuki Hajime," he says, extending a hand to shake.  
  
"Fuji Shuusuke," he responds, but he's sure that Mizuki is already aware of that.  
  
"Fuji-kun," he starts, "how are you settling in to St. Rudolph so far?"  
  
Shuusuke continues to smile, not a single emotion readable on his face. "I've just arrived. You're the first student I've had the pleasure of meeting, Mizuki-kun."  
  
Mizuki smiles and curls a lock of hair around his fingers. "I've heard a lot about you,  _tensai_."  
  
Shuusuke turns away and places a cactus onto his desk. "And I've heard nothing about you."  
  
\---  
  
Practice at St. Rudolph is... different from Seigaku's, to say the least. Shuusuke adjusts quickly though, acquainting himself with the other new recruits. Mizuki seems... different around him than the other members, to say the least. Shuusuke watches back as Mizuki's eyes track him around the courts for weeks, before he finally sees.  
  
He stops Mizuki after practice, one day, hand gripped firmly around his slender wrist and blue eyes drilling into him. Mizuki stares back at him, searching for something in his expression, before breaking into a sly grin. He runs his free hand through his hair.  
  
"You know, Fuji-kun, I was thinking of recruiting your brother instead of you, but  _you_ , you're so much better."  
  
Shuusuke tightens his grip to bruise and drags Mizuki towards him, tasting blood as he crashes his lips against his.


	5. inui/fuji, fuji in wonderland

"Probability that our guest will arrive here late: 97%"  
  
Fuji smooths down his skirt and sits down cross legged at the end of the table. "It appears that I've beat the odds then, hm?"  
  
The man at the opposite end of the table pushes his glasses up and adjusts the overlarge hat on his head. "It's too be expected more than one would expect, with how... unconventional most of our guests are."  
  
Fuji surveys the wide array of teas and pastries on the table. "If I'm not wrong in assuming, are you not supposed to have a companion?"  
  
The man nods. "He's... out, to put it simply." Fuji nods in return.  
  
"It would be impolite of me to serve myself, would it not?" The man stands up, fingers caressing porcelain before his fingers curl around the handle of a particularly squat teapot.  
  
"Probability that this tea is the one here most to your tastes: 31%"  
  
Fuji raises an eyebrow, his smile never leaving his face. "Those are rather low odds."  
  
The man bows his head. "Having just met you, my data is insufficient as to ascertain your tastes. This just so happens to be one of my most popular... concoctions." He pours the piping hot tea into a cup, steam rising and curling off of it. The surface of the liquid has a rainbow sheen almost reminiscent of mother-of-pearl.  
  
Fuji peers closer at the teacup as the man takes a small bottle out of his pocket and unstoppers it: "DRINK ME," it's labeled.  
  
"My special juice gives tea an extra kick that some find particularly... effective."  
  
Most people would ask what he means by that. Fuji simply looks up at the man and smiles again with closed lips, the edges of his eyes crinkling. He adjusts his white apron. "I look forward to sampling it, then."  
  
The man grins ominously and pours the clear liquid into the teacup. The tea immediately transforms from pearly white to midnight black. The tea leaves still floating around turn a forbidding shade of red. Fuji appraises the cup before daintily picking it up and bringing it up to his lips.  
  
It's hot. Not just in terms of temperature. It feels like a fire has alighted in his mouth, flames dancing across his tongue. He swallows, feeling the heat racing down his throat before settling deep within his stomach, warming him violently from the inside. He blinks a couple stray, involuntary tears from his eyes before downing the rest of the teacup in one gulp.  
  
"Thank you for the drink, Mr... ?"  
  
"Inui," he responds. "But most people simply call me the Hatter."


	6. yukimura/fuji&shiraishi, room 201 shenanigans

“People like us should wear a warning.”  
  
“People like  _you_  should wear a warning, you mean,” Shiraishi replies from his bunk.  
  
Yukimura laughs, light and musical. “Yes, people like Fuji and I, I suppose.”  
  
“And the rest of your team.”  
  
“You’re rather the odd one out in this room, aren’t you, Shiraishi-kun?”  
  
He shrugs, and Fuji pipes up from his seat at his desk. “Well, he  _does_  have a worrying fondness for poisonous plants.”  
  
“It’s a passing interest.  _I’m_  not the one people have to worry about getting poisoned by.”  
  
“Rude,” Fuji chastises. He pauses. “But true.”  
  
“Have you poisoned someone?”  
  
Fuji continues to smile serenely and turns back to writing his letter in silence. Yukimura stands up and peers over his shoulder.  
  
“Writing a letter to your brother?”  
  
Fuji nods. “I do feel bad for sending him home so brutally.” His smile melts into a frown. “It  _is_  unusual though that I haven’t heard from him so long. It’s been over a week, and he hasn’t returned my calls.”  
  
“You don’t return  _my_  calls, though.”  
  
The corners of Fuji’s eyes twitch. “It’s not exactly as if, ah, certain members of my team wouldn’t have taken very kindly to me ‘consorting with the enemy.’”  
  
“And, if I’m not mistaken, certain other members of your team would have been  _delighted_  that you had a chance to extract some information from said enemy.”   
  
“Wait.” Shiraishi holds his hand up. “So are you two, like, y’know . . .” He gestures vaguely between them.  
  
“Accomplices?” Fuji asks.  
  
“Long lost siblings?” Yukimura interjects.  
  
“. . . Dating?” Shiraishi finishes.  
  
Fuji and Yukimura look at each other, then at Shiraishi, then back at each other before nodding.  
  
Shiraishi smiles and sighs fondly. “This truly is the ecstasy of love.”  
  
“We’ve only been together for three months,” Fuji points out.  
  
“That’s ten times longer than the average middle school relationship.” Shiraishi shoots back.  
  
Yukimura places his hands on Fuji’s shoulders, hands twitching towards his neck before he loops his arms affectionately around his neck.  
  
“Don’t minimize the strength of our love, darling,” he says. “Those three months were a whirlwind affair.”  
  
“During which he didn’t return any of your calls?”  
  
Yukimura removes one of his hands from Fuji and waves it dismissively at Shiraishi. “You underestimate the strength of the bond between man and woman.”  
  
“You’re both men.”  
  
“Details, details.”  
  
Fuji gently brings up his free hand and clasps it around Yukimura’s. “Anyways, Shiraishi-kun, why are you so interested in our relationship? Are you, perhaps, trying to—ah, how would Momo put it?—get in on this?”  
  
Shiraishi chokes and falls off of his bunk.


End file.
